


when am I gonna lose you

by HopeRomance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Missing Moments, Missing Scene, Romance, The Author Regrets Nothing, is this canon compliant, just go with it, probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeRomance/pseuds/HopeRomance
Summary: “This meant nothing.”“Sure it didn’t, sweetheart.”She always swears it's the last time, he knows it never is...A series of secret moments set throughout the three years between A New Hope and Empire Strikes Back.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	when am I gonna lose you

Luke’s taken down the Death Star, they’ve dealt a massive blow to the Empire, and for once the Rebel Alliance has the advantage. It’s a huge win, the celebrations go on for a week straight — parties and fireworks and the drunken sharing of war stories… so it’s only natural to get wrapped up in the excitement, blow off a little steam…

At least that’s what Leia tells herself as Han tosses her onto his bed in the privacy of his quarters on the Falcon. 

It means nothing — nothing more than two people who are supremely happy to have survived, to have lived to fight another day. (She ignores the tiny voice in her head that reminds her she’s not just happy to have survived, but she’s frankly overjoyed that Han returned at all). 

But this means nothing, nothing _real_ or _serious_ , and she tells him as much as he kisses down her neck, his hand sliding up her thigh and bunching her dress that suddenly feels like it’s made of entirely too much material. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Princess,” he grumbles into her collarbone. 

She’s going to bite back with some scathing retort, she really means to give him a piece of her mind, but then he rips off his shirt and her mind goes utterly blank. 

All those little thoughts flitting through her head, the snide remarks and the what-am-I-doing and the _gratitude_ whose source she refuses to acknowledge… she’ll deal with all of that later.

* * *

He hates that knowing look Chewie gives him. Hates it. But he hates the thought of _not_ following Leia through the Rebel base and down a path that he knows leads to her bed far more than he hates Chewbacca’s slight judgement of how quickly he springs to action whenever Leia wants him. 

After that first time, he’d worried it would be last time. She’d been so insistent that it would never happen again, even as he’d been buried inside of her, even as she’d clutched at his back pulling him impossibly closer, as he’d watched her leave, hair uncharacteristically loose and mussed… she’d sworn it would never happen again. 

And it hadn’t for months. Long enough for him to believe that she meant it. 

But then it did happen again. And again. And again. 

And now it happens just frequently enough that he never quite worries that the last time is really the last time. 

He’s not sure how many people on the base know. Truthfully, he doesn’t care if everyone does. But Leia wants to keep it quiet and that’s enough for him to want to keep it quiet too. 

Chewie knows about the sneaking around and the reason why there are nights where nobody seems to be able to find the smuggler and the princess, because of course he does. But Han has a sneaking suspicion Chewbacca knows about more than that. He’s seen the wookie catch him staring, when Leia’s engaged in conversation with someone else, when she’s eating dinner and laughing with Luke, when she’s listening to the latest brief, sitting in on the latest strategy meeting. He finds himself watching her more than he’d like to admit, and he finds himself getting _caught_ watching her _far_ more than he’d like to admit. 

But it means nothing. It all means nothing and that’s okay, he reminds himself, as he finally catches up to her and corners her against the door she’s just locked and catches her lips with his own, cutting her off right as she’s in the middle of complaining for the millionth time about how difficult his belt is to unbuckle and really he should consider a simpler style or perhaps not wear belts in her presence at all anymore… 

It means nothing, he agrees. And he wonders when he’ll actually believe that.

* * *

In the year and a half since they blew up the Death Star, it’s become increasingly clear that the end of this war is not yet in sight. 

Every bit of progress they make is met with a setback of equal proportion. 

To say it’s frustrating is a massive understatement. And it’s not healthy to keep frustrations pent up, not healthy at all… 

So Leia doesn’t feel bad in the least about shoving Han into the nearest empty room and melting into his already-groping touch as soon as they’re dismissed from today’s briefing. 

It’s for her health, and his too, probably. 

That’s all.

* * *

“This meant nothing.” 

“Sure it didn’t, sweetheart.” 

“I have a name, you know.” 

“I know you do, princess.” 

An eyeroll, then,

“Anyway, what was that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, I just mean… it sure happens a lot for something that doesn’t mean anything.” 

“You’re delusional.” 

“Or you’re afraid.” 

* * *

He’s a good engineer. And an excellent pilot. A focused fighter and a great asset to the Rebellion. 

Leia could recite the positive qualities Han possesses in her sleep thanks to how many times she’s repeated them to curious members of the Rebellion when they ask why she fights so hard to keep him from leaving. And how many times she’s repeated it to herself when she asks _herself_ why she’s fighting so hard to keep him here. 

But those reasons don’t explain the way her heart drops and her stomach twists when Han murmurs into the crook of her neck that he really does have to go soon. 

“You can’t,” she sighs as he rolls off of her. “Not yet.” 

She’s not sure when it started, but somewhere in the past two years and some-odd months, instead of just leaving immediately, he’s started tugging her to his side, smoothing her hair down with one hand and lacing his fingers with her with the other. And she’s started letting him. 

“We’re getting closer to a victory. Just don’t go yet.” Her words are muffled by his chest, but she knows he knows what she’s saying — it’s the same thing she says every time. 

“Sweetheart, we’ve been over this,” he sighs. “Jabba’s got my number and he’s not gonna leave me alone until I pay him back.” 

“Just a little longer?” she implores, like she always does. 

“It’s incredible I’ve made it this long without him tracking me down. I can’t run forever, no matter how much you may want me to.” 

He turns his head and looks down at her, wearing that infuriating smirk of his, like he knows some secret about her that even she herself is not privy to. It’s a shame he’s so handsome, she thinks absently, it would be much easier to keep her thoughts collected around him if he didn’t look like _that_. 

“It’s not about what I want,” she corrects when she finally comes back to herself. “You’re a good engineer. And an excellent pilot. A focused fighter and a great asset to the Rebellion.” 

She can hear how robotic the words sound as she rattles them off. R2D2 could have given a more impassioned line delivery. 

“Uh huh,” Han agrees, “I completely understand that those are the only reasons you want to keep me around.” He sounds as believable as she did. Which is to say, not at all. 

“I mean it,” she huffs as he moves his hand from her hair to her shoulder and pulls her a little closer to him. 

She means it. She does. 

She really thinks she does. 

So why _is_ she fighting so hard to keep him here?

* * *

He takes his time with her, when he can. When they’re not stuffed in a storage closet or killing time before a meeting or simply too desperate for each other to go slowly. 

He traces every curve of her body, commits every sound she makes to memory, savors the way her skin feels the way her mouth tastes the way she moves underneath, above, around him. 

It’s the times like this that give him hope that it all might truly mean more than the nothing she always claims it does. Because it’s the times like this that feel different. 

Sure, they still infuriate each other on a daily basis. She still challenges him and argues with him and jabs him with the cleverest barbs he’s ever heard, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

But then… times like this… she traces the planes of his face with the back of her hand and slowly drags a foot up his calf and says his name so tenderly… and he wouldn’t want that any other way either.

* * *

Some days flash by in an instant, sometimes a week feels like a month. Leia doesn’t really mark time by by nights or days, hours or minutes any more, but by meetings and strategy briefs, dinners where somehow she and Luke and Han’s schedule’s line up and they’re all free at the same time, narrow escapes from the Empire’s grasp. Wins and losses. Too many losses.

A reconnaissance team gets caught right at the end of their mission. It was a small group — only five people — but nonetheless that’s five souls that won’t return to the base. 

News of their capture spreads to the rebellion and the rest of the night is a solemn, quiet affair.

Leia barely even blinks when the door to her room opens a few hours later to reveal Hanstanding in the doorway, a hand running through his hair. 

“Thought you might like some company,” he shrugs. 

She peels back the corner of her blanket and that’s all the invitation he needs to toe off his shoes and crawl into bed next to her. 

There are no wandering hands tonight — there never are on nights like this. She just holds on to him and lets herself be held. 

The surge of happiness she feels as she listens to his heartbeat feels profane — tonight is not a night for joy — but she can’t help the way the corners of her mouth turn up at the thought that somehow, _somehow_ , Han is still alive, with a beating heart and a tight grasp around her waist. He’s still _here._

She also can’t help the sting in her eyes when her thoughts shift to the possibility that someday he might not be. 

* * *

Hoth is cold. 

That’s all Leia had said to him when she’d appeared in the doorway of his quarters half an hour ago. 

“Well I’m warm, sweetheart,” was all he’d said in response. 

And that had been enough for her to make a beeline to him and crawl into his outstretched arms. 

She had shivered hard enough to shake the bed until he had finally convinced her to shed her puffy outer layers, which, while effective against the elements, were in actuality blocking her from his body heat. 

“If I freeze to death, my blood will be on your hands,” she had threatened as she shrugged off her heavy jacket. 

“There’s no bloodshed involved in freezing,” he’d scoffed. “If you freeze to death, your frostbitten toes might be on my hands, but not your blood.” 

“You know what I meant.” 

“Now, personally, I’m not interested in having your toes on my hands at all, but there are some other body parts of yours…” he’d placed his hands on her waist, slid up to her ribcage, inched closer and closer to his true destination… “that I wouldn’t mind having on — _in_ _—_ my hands.”

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“I really am.” 

She hadn’t pushed his hands away. She’d reached toward him and found a better spot for her own.

She’s right, of course — she usually is — Hoth _is_ cold. Why the latest Rebel base had to be on a frozen planet, he doesn’t know… surely they could have found _somewhere_ else. 

But then again, if they had, he wouldn’t be spending a few hours curled up against the woman he’s slowly starting to worry he might love. 

* * *

No matter how it starts, it always ends the same way. She gets dressed. She walks out of his room (although he’s sure she’s started walking slower and slower each time. If he wanted, he could get up and stop her. And he’d do it, if he thought that’s what _she_ wanted). 

“You can stay the night if you’d like,” he offers, the same way he offers every time. 

“You know I can’t,” she sighs the way she always does. 

Typically, this is the part where he watches her go. Typically, this is the end of the conversation. But this time, he opens his mouth again. 

“And why’s that?” 

“I can’t because then it would mean something.” 

“Or maybe you can’t because it already does.” 

The way she barely suppresses an eye-roll is enough to shut him up. She’s the only one who can ever shut him up if he’s being honest. 

So he goes back to following the established script. He stops talking, stops challenging. He just watches her open the door… 

But then she hesitates in the doorway. And instead of just walking away, this time she turns and looks at him and he’s not sure what happens next because _this_ part has never happened before. 

He opens his mouth to say something. What, he doesn’t know. But she beats him to it.

“I really can’t stand you sometimes.” 

“You keep telling yourself that, Leia.”

And if it weren’t for the smile she’s not even trying to hide, he might be hurt by her next words. But she _is_ smiling and she’s looking him right in the eye and there’s something behind her glare that’s so heartbreakingly soft that when she opens her mouth one more time and says “I hate you,” all he replies is, “I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yes, I know I have a WIP I’m supposed to be updating but I just had to write this first. And yes I know that there’s NO evidence of this being canon, but I’m sticking by my belief that Han and Leia were hooking up well before ESB and you can’t convince me otherwise <3


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